


Force

by AgentInfinity



Series: Sexcapades: A Love Story [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, CNC, Consensual Non-Consent, Degradation, F/M, Face Slapping, Gaslighting, Knifeplay, Pre-Negotiated Kink, Roleplay, Safeword Use, Vaginal Sex, Victim Blaming, pussy slapping, rapeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 03:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29993094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentInfinity/pseuds/AgentInfinity
Summary: “I didn’t say I was looking for trouble,” I correct him, thanking the bartender as he places another sidecar down in front of me and takes my empty tumbler away.  I sip it and sigh happily, vowing to tip generously.  When I look back to Jay, he’s just watching me through heavily-lidded eyes.“But, what if you found some?” he inquires, nearly draining his own drink as he waits for my answer.  I never intended on sleeping with anyone, just a bit of harmless flirting.  I wonder if I should try to extricate myself from the situation now or go with bluntness.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Sexcapades: A Love Story [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1264571
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Force

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY, FOLKS. So, this is a very heavy subject, and I'm not sure why I sat down and wrote it out, other than it just kind of flowed out of me and my memory. Actual, explicit CNC is something that my husband and I have done three times in our entire relationship, which spans more than a decade, if that tells you anything. And, to be quite honest, my feelings around why I want to do it sometimes are still muddled and confusing to me. **PLEASE, PLEASE HEED THE TAGS.** Take care of yourselves, and sit this one out if you need to. (Alternatively, if this is your thing, hey, good for you, please be safe, and have at it. No kink-shaming will be found here, obviously.)

The hotel bar isn’t too crowded tonight, with it being a Tuesday and all, but there are enough people there that flirting a little might not be out of the realm of possibility. I sip my sidecar, enjoying the zest of the citrus against the smooth cognac. I don’t indulge often, but being away from home for the first time in about a year has me splurging.

Which, for me, means two mixed drinks at most and then maybe a beer.

Anyway, I search the room for interesting characters, and spot one down the bar from me, sipping something dark over ice. He’s wearing dress slacks held up with a strange looking belt and a dark green button-down, sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms. The bartender says something to him, and he chuckles, saying something back. His smile is nice, dimples showing around his mouth and eyes crinkling at the edges. He turns and notices me before I can look away, and I choose to salute him with my drink and take a slow sip. He smiles again, crookedly, and stands, grabbing his drink and making his way toward the empty seat next to me. He’s tall, and even with me sitting on a barstool, he towers over me.

“Good evenin’,'' he greets, a hint of an accent rounding out the end of the word. I nod and gesture at the stool next to me. “What’s your name?” I tell him, liking the sound of the vowels in his mouth.

“And yours?” I ask, finishing my drink and holding my glass up at the bartender to signal for another.

“You can call me Jay,” he says, eyes twinkling in amusement, almost like what he’s saying is a joke.

“And is that your actual name?” I counter, eyes narrowing.

“Part of it, yeah,” he outright grins. “So, are you here for business or pleasure?” I scoff at the cliche of it all, but answer all the same.

“Business officially, but I’m enjoying getting away for a few days. So a little of both, I suppose. You?”

“Same as you. Business during the days, and whatever trouble I can get into at night.” 

“I didn’t say I was looking for trouble,” I correct him, thanking the bartender as he places another sidecar down in front of me and takes my empty tumbler away. I sip it and sigh happily, vowing to tip generously. When I look back to Jay, he’s just watching me through heavily-lidded eyes.

“But, what if you found some?” he inquires, nearly draining his own drink as he waits for my answer. I never intended on sleeping with anyone, just a bit of harmless flirting. I wonder if I should try to extricate myself from the situation now or go with bluntness.

In the end, bluntness wins out.

“I’m not looking for a one night stand, if that’s what you’re insinuating, ,” I inform him with a small smile. “Just some easy conversation before I go upstairs and enjoy a night of blissful, uninterrupted sleep.” Jay smiles brightly at my frank response, and shakes his head.

“That’s fine with me. I can appreciate the merit of a nice conversation over drinks,” he says, voice light and teasing, the long ‘i’ in ‘nice’ coming out softer in his accent. “Who said anything about one night stands, anyway?” I roll my eyes at his needless verbosity, and sip at my drink again. After a few seconds of silence, I give in.

“So what is it that you do, Jay?”

The next hour passes in a pleasant back and forth of real questions and teasing remarks, and I work my way through my second drink as we go. He orders another scotch, and I wrinkle my nose at it.

“Are you wrinklin’ your nose at a single-malt work of drinkable art?” he asks, slightly incredulous.

“Yeah. Even the single-malts taste like burnt whiskey.” He gasps and puts his hand to his chest in mock horror, and I giggle, feeling relaxed and carefree. I pass my card to the bartender to close out my tab, and tip him well when he brings me the receipt.

“Well, Jay, this has been very enjoyable, but I need to go get some rest. I have an early flight in the morning.” He nods at me, taking my hand and kissing the back of it. I shake my head at the silliness of it all but smile all the same. 

“It has indeed been enjoyable. Thank you,” he says, seemingly genuine, before turning back to the bar and wrapping his hands around his drink. I wait at the elevator bank seemingly forever, but it’s mostly due to the impractical heels I’m wearing. I hum to myself, one of the nondescript tunes from the bar apparently having burrowed into my subconscious, and when the elevator door finally opens, I convince my feet to walk me in without limping.

I get in alone, pressing the number 3 and leaning against the wall as the car starts to rise. I make it all the way down to the end of the hall without incident, looking at the stairwell door next to my own door and laughing to myself how I would never have made it up three flights of stairs without giving up and taking my shoes off at the bottom.

I swipe my keycard and open the door, sitting my purse down on the luggage rack next to me before turning and intending to lock the door, but someone pushes it open before it has time to latch. I’m far enough away to not get hit by it, but I do stare dumbly for a few seconds in surprise.

It’s Jay. He steps in and closes the door, locking it behind him.

“What are you doing?” I ask, moving toward him to open the door back up and push him out, but he catches my upper arms in his large hands and walks me backward further into the room.

“You think that I was just gonna let you flirt shamelessly with me for that long and then let you leave me blue-balled down at the bar?” An ice cold realization hits me, and I try to twist out of his grip.

“How did you even know which room I was in?” I ask, my brain latching onto something inconsequential. 

“You had your room key in the envelope hanging out of your purse the whole time. It has the room number written on it.” My heart is racing and I start to panic as he backs me up against the bed and shoves me down onto it. “I think this is exactly what you wanted to happen. Why else would you bring up a one night stand and then practically shove your room number in my face?” I push against him as he presses his weight into me, pulling open my blazer and popping the buttons off. He jerks up the tank I have on underneath and slides a hand, the one not holding my wrists above my head, under my bra, squeezing until I gasp, laughing as he pinches my nipple until I whimper.

“I bet this is what you do in every place you go to. Find someone a good foot taller than you, tease them, and then act like you don’t want them to fuck you. I bet you’re even wet for me.” He slides his hand out of my bra and undoes his belt, pulling it through his belt loops and wrapping it around my wrists. The extra openings in it turn into cuffs when looped correctly, and I wonder just how planned this was. I kick and buck under him, but he is truly much larger and stronger than I am, and I only manage to press against his hardening cock, pulling a moan from him.

“That’s it, little slut. Show me how much you want me.” He loops the belt around the little knob in the middle of the headboard and buckles it, leaving me stretched out under him. I kick as he goes to unclasp my pants, and I see his smile drop for the first time. The smack to my face stuns me, and he grabs a handful of my hair and pulls so I can do nothing but look him in the eye. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a knife with his free hand, flicking it open and waving it in front of my face.

“You’ll cooperate or you won’t like what happens,” he growls. Tears slip from my eyes, but I don’t move.

“That’s what I thought,” he grins, and it’s no longer sweet or bright, just menacing and terrifying. He waves the knife in front of my eyes again before letting my hair go and sliding it under my shirt, cutting upward until it lays open on either side of me. He does the same to my bra, cutting between the cups and then each strap so it falls uselessly to each side of me on the bed.

“Are you going to be a good girl?” he asks, trailing the knife down my stomach and stopping at the waistband of my pants. I nod, swallowing against the fear sticking in my throat.

“I can’t hear you,” he sing-songs, slipping the knife between my pants and my skin at my hip.

“Yes,” I force out. He chuckles, and takes the knife out, closing it and returning it to his pocket. He undoes my pants and slides them down, taking off my shoes in the process and leaving me in only my ruined top and my panties. He outright laughs when he sees my underwear.

“Black lace? And you said you didn’t want to get fucked tonight?” he asks, incredulous. “I don’t believe that for a second.” He presses his hand between my legs and feels the wetness there as I turn my head away from him, ashamed.

That earns me another smack, and I cry out, unable to stop myself.

“I thought you were going to be good. From the looks of things down here, you seem to be enjoying yourself.” He slides my panties down my legs and stuffs them in my mouth, moaning quietly at the sight of me. He wipes at a tear track in a mockery of tenderness, and smacks me again. My cry comes out muffled this time, so he does it again. When he raises his hand a second time, I flinch away, but he moves his hand south and smacks against my pussy instead. I attempt to press my legs together against the pain, but it’s impossible with him sitting between them.

“Don’t try to hide yourself from me. I’m goin’ through all this trouble just for you. The least you can do is let me enjoy the view.” He slaps my pussy again and again until it’s stinging, but I’m still wet, and now I can feel it running down my slit and onto the bed.

He sees it, and smirks, and begins unbuttoning his pants. My breaths are quickening, hindered by the stuffy nose from crying and the panties in my mouth. He pulls his cock out, and it’s already hard, long and thick to match the rest of him.

He lines up and in one solid push, he forces his way all the way inside me. It burns, and I try to yell, but it doesn’t work, my voice not making it past the fabric and ensuing dryness of my mouth. He sets a punishing pace, rocking into my cervix with every thrust.

“This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it, slut? You wanted to make me so crazy for you that I had to come up here and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” I shake my head, but he just slaps me again, and I go quiet. He continues fucking me, growling as he thrusts, and all I can do is take it.

“I think you want to come for me, don’t you?” he grounds out, grunting at the exertion of keeping up with the rhythm he’s set. He doesn’t wait for a response, just rubs harshly at my clit, already sore from being slapped earlier. I squeeze around him, feeling a tightening in my gut that tells me my body does want this. He laughs, low and husky as he keeps up his motions. “I can feel you clenching around me. I think you want to come for me. All over my cock.” I try to hold it in, but the pressure and the angle are just too much, and I come, spasming around him and squeezing my legs around him. I moan, panting and only dragging moist, hot air into my lungs. I can’t catch my breath, but I also can’t stop coming. He keeps rubbing, even after I start to shake my head again.

“I get to decide what happens here, not you,” he snarls, speeding up somehow as he gets close as well. I can’t breathe, and it’s suddenly too much. I tap against the headboard five times, and everything stops. My hands are free, my mouth is empty, and so is my aching pussy.

Gentle arms wrap around me, and I roll to my side and bury my face in the pillow.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m right here. No one’s gonna hurt you, I promise,” my husband murmurs, stroking a hand through my hair. I cry, and it feels good. He continues to make comforting noises and speaks in quiet, small words until I turn over and look at him. He’s himself again, the swagger and exaggerated accent of the character is all gone, and it’s just his dark eyes searching mine for any hint that he went too far.

“Are you okay?” he asks, a worried furrow between his brows. I take stock of myself, and think. My pussy aches, but that’s not unwanted. My face is sore, but not enough to bruise.

“I’m okay, I think. Don’t stop touching me, though.” I burrow into his chest, letting his touch force the panic down while he holds me tightly, rubbing patterns into the skin on my back.

He tells me Nice Things, and I slowly stop shaking. I sleep, I think, for a little bit, and then he helps me remove my ruined clothing and washes me in the shower, which is comically too short for him. I point this out, and he rolls his eyes.

"Thank you," I tell him, and I mean it. He just kisses me on my cheeks, once for each slap. Back in the bed, we talk. He prods me gently for information on my emotions, how I felt, and what ended up being too much. I answer as truthfully as I can, but I’m still not sure about all of them. I ask him the same, and he mentions not wanting to do this type of play again for a while. I agree even as I settle down, relaxed and less anxious than I’ve felt in a long time.

“I love you,” he whispers into my hair, and I kiss his chest. I stroke my fingers over his ribs and notice the marks around my wrist that will likely be noticeable tomorrow

“I love you, too,” I whisper back. He hums happily in response, and I smile at the rumbling sensation against my cheek.

This is familiar. We lie curled into each other, and I sleep so deeply that I don’t dream.

The next morning, we planned to go to breakfast and do some exploring through the city before heading back home, but instead we sleep in and grab breakfast on the road after almost sleeping past checkout.

My left cheek is still slightly red and my wrists still have some faint lines around them, but I find myself liking the reminders.

What I'm _not_ sure about is what to think about liking the reminders, but the thought gets lost when my husband starts playing Morrissey, and I am tasked with vehemently objecting. 

I don't go back to that line of thought for a long time, and as far as I know, neither does he.

When we climb into our bed that night, he pulls me on top of him and he calls me beautiful and good and _fucking gorgeous_ as I ride him, slow and deep. I can’t stop running my fingers through his hair, over his throat, down his chest, and he holds my hips, letting me set the pace, but holding on to me as if I might slip away.

He comes, and I don’t, but he rolls me over and sucks on my clit and slides his fingers inside of me, undoing me in all the ways he knows how. When I do come, it’s like the gentle caress of a stream flowing down my body and dragging the pleasure from my head to my curled toes.

It’s a balm, and we fall asleep right there, with his head on my stomach, and my hands in his hair. This time, I do dream, and it’s of locked doors and secret smiles, but my answering grin is sharp and sure.

I wake just as rested as the night before.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, idk. Thanks for reading. Leave a comment if you like, or come find me on Tumblr [here](http://agentxinfinity.tumblr.com). <3<3


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